


Of Roses and Swallows

by whitewolfcub



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26036002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfcub/pseuds/whitewolfcub
Summary: Ciri has a moment.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Mistle
Kudos: 12





	Of Roses and Swallows

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters, ect. I haven't let anyone read anything I've written in ages, so yeah, be kind. Occurs during the events of Baptism of Fire.

Ciri touched the rose tattooed on the inside of Mistle’s thigh, lovingly touching it before briefly applying pressure to the area, which she knew had to still be sensitive. She’d been tattooed only hours before herself, after all, and she knew hers was certainly still tender. Mistle squirmed, laughing. “My cruel, cruel princess. Hurt me some more.”  
However, the princess in question flinched, as Mistle’s words struck closer to home than she knew. Despite the fact that the erstwhile heir to the throne of Cintra couldn’t help herself from occasionally lording over everyone, she couldn’t bring herself to be truthful to anyone. No one would believe her if she did. So she wound up snapping occasionally like a taut rope, much to the derision of everyone else. Her memories of Cintra were so long ago, it seemed as if several other lifetimes had been layered over them until they seemed to happen to someone else, someone she could barely remember meeting. The other rats had mockingly dubbed her “her royal highness,” and whenever she had one of her tantrums, they would make extra sure to refer to her this way.  
Noticing the change in Ciri’s demeanor, Mistle propped herself up beside her on her elbow, staring deep into her faraway eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking of happened long ago. I’m here, now. Be with me.”  
It wasn’t Mistle didn’t care. It was that all of them lived in the here and now, because the past was too painful and not worth considering anyway. It couldn’t be changed. Destiny was it’s own creature. So she allowed herself to be pulled into her lover’s embrace, welcomed the warm kiss, biting the other girl’s lip gently, playfully, and then roughly. They tumbled together in the hay, all memories lost and all thoughts focused on the pleasure and the pain.

The next morning, Ciri awoke empty. She stared for a brief eternity into the sky, watching a swallow, of things, circling overhead. And then, it all crashed down on her at once. All the deaths, all the murder, all the blood, all the loss. The abandonment. They said they would come for her. Geralt and Yennefer. They never did. She had waited all this time, and where were they? Her eyes followed the sparrow across the sky, watching as it swooped and dipped overhead. A reminder. But why did she need this? Why was she never allowed to be free of her past, the way everyone else in her life seemed to be allowed to be free of her? Suddenly, she felt a wellspring of rage unleash itself within her soul. How dare anyone, even the universe itself, see fit to make her feel that she was less than? She was the Lion Cub of Cintra, and if she wanted be free of her destiny, free of her memories, free of every relationship and every person she’d ever met, that was her right. Slipping out from under Mistle’s sleeping form, she soundlessly mounted Kelpie and road away, in the direction the swallow had flown. 

She picked up speed as they went, until she spotted the swallow weaving through the sky, high and far in the distance. She just assumed it had to be the same bird. Anyway, if not, close enough. Any swallow would do. She road on, disregarding the time. The other Rats could wait. Mistle could wait. This was more important.

After a bit, the bird dipped down into the trees, and did not reappear. Dismounting Kelpie, Ciri followed silently, drawing her knife. The bird had come to rest on a low branch overhead, and watched her approach with one beady eye cocked towards her. Knife down at her side, she extended her hand towards the bird, hoping irrationally that it would simply fly down to her. Of course, it did not. Instead, it flew to the next highest branch, and patiently sat looking down at her as if to say “of course it will not be this easy. You must work for it.”

Sighing, she placed her knife between her teeth and began to climb. She’d just reached the branch the swallow had originally perched on when the damned thing decided to fly to another tree entirely. It would have been entirely appropriate at this point for her to climb back down and ride back home. She’d probably missed breakfast. They’d probably left without her. But the same rage that had possessed Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra on the battlefield now possessed her cub, and glowing bright with hatred for the little life that reminded her of the little life she’d lost, she leapt for the bird across the gap in the trees.

All of her witcher training came back to her body in a flash, as, athletic and nimble, she flew through the air like a wildcat pouncing for the kill. She grasped the branch of the tree she landed in, swinging her body around so the perched perfectly without rattling the branches whatsoever. The bird rewarded her by flying higher into the tree. If she’d been older, if she’d been more mature, if she’d been less desperate to escape herself, she would’ve climbed down and accepted defeat with dignity and grace. She was, after all, a future queen, and such behavior was not suitable to one of her stature. Then again, most of her life up to this point had not been suitable to her stature. So she climbed higher. The swallow, with its beady black eyes, cocked its head at her before shitting on her face and flying away.

At that moment, the branch under her feet snapped, and she found herself dropping several feet before tumbling backward, all of her witcher training failing her in that one instant. The world spun for several seconds before she encountered the ground full force, landing flat on her back. The impact knocked all the wind out of her body, and the sky spun above her for several moments. The sparrow circled overhead. Finally, after several moments, she sat up, pulled her knees into her chest, and wept. Hot, angry tears flowed down her face, as she mourned for herself, for what she had lost, and what she had become. Geralt and Yennefer were not to blame for this. They could barely take care of themselves, let alone anyone else. They needed her, possibly even more than they needed them. She would have to go to them. 

“Falka? What do you think you’re doing, wandering off and not telling anyone where you’re going? I had to follow your damned horse back to find you. You know she’s practically feral, right? She won’t let any of us touch her.”

She turned and wordlessly ran to Mistle, nearly knocking her over with her embrace.To her credit, Mistle didn’t say a word, but held her close, as safely as she could. There were no words to be said right now, but Ciri knew. It was the end of their story together. Something else was beginning.


End file.
